Unwilling to face Hogwarts just yet, she holes up in the back seat of the Knight Bus, beset by memories. Alice when she was just Neville's age, shyness dissolving as she explores the greenhouse. Alice sitting her OWLs, informing the examiner of several new applications for shrivelfigs. Alice coming to say goodbye on a July afternoon, and to announce that she is joining the Aurors.
Pomona remembers the ache that surprised her then. The world is full of promising Herbology students who never value their talent or the discipline. Why should Alice be different?
"I've been looking at the syllabus," Alice says, frowning, "and it seems a bit patchy. No mention of Herbology at all."
Pomona takes refuge in the brisk tone that always serves her in times of stress. "Unfortunately, my dear, Herbology isn't generally recognised as having much of a role to play in combat or other matters relating to the Aurors."
They share a wry look.
"Well, I intend to change that," Alice says and shakes Pomona's hand. Her own is soft but strong and, Pomona knows, capable of taming the most obstinate mandrake or the fiercest geranium. Her smile lights a candle in Pomona's heart even now, as she hunches in the corner of the bus, arms cradling her memories. "I'll see you soon, Professor."
She is true to her word. And that, of course, is where it all begins.
Begins. Began. Pomona can't get her tenses straight. Since Neville stepped tentatively into her greenhouse, the past has been chasing her down.
